Well it’s here again
the winter through a window,
The cat in the window,
the birds outside,
the man in the chair beside the window,
the hope of spring far away.
He glances like a metaphor
An Egyptian cat who was a God
and the man in the chair
who is not.
Oh where am my going?
Nowhere have I been,
aware is the song I sing.
Nihilism doesn’t matter
more than the song
and the wind is really in the trees
and not there at all.
the cliché is the metaphor
and the metaphor, the cliché
Her countenance was noble
as noble as the wind
as noble as the song I sing
………..David Michael Jackson…..1/25/2019
